


Day 21 - Fights and Arguments

by Shardinian



Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [22]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shardinian/pseuds/Shardinian
Summary: Sorry I fell behind a few days.  I should be caught back up by mid-week. :)
Series: Shardinian (Mishka)'s OBEYMEmber! [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993873
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Day 21 - Fights and Arguments

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I fell behind a few days. I should be caught back up by mid-week. :)

“Look, all I'm saying is the only reason you get any gigs at all is because certain magazines cater to a… less sophisticated audience, and there's nothing wrong with that.”

“Wait, what the hell is that supposta mean?! My gigs are all top-notch, same as yours! You're just jealous ‘cause nobody’s called you to a set in months, and I got three shoots next week alone.”

“That you have three shoots in seven days just proves my point,” Asmo sighs. “You’ll model the most uncultured dross if it means you can make a quick Grimm, which is why you get all the calls from magazines with fanbases that desire… more attainable beauty standards.”

“’More attainable beauty standards'? You better not be implyin’ what I think you are, or the next thing I'm gonna model is your pasty-ass face.” Mammon pulls back his fork like a tiny catapult and flings a hunk of oily sausage at his brother.

“Gross! That almost touched my hair! Typical Mammon; you can't keep up with the conversation, so you start throwing things like a toddler. Do you want me to repeat my last point with smaller words? I could draw you a picture; I'm sure I've got some crayons around here somewh-HEY! Knock that off! If even a drop of grease touches my skin, I'll have to- GRR!! STOP IT!”

Asmo scowls as he ducks an entire airborne sausage, then hurls his coffee mug. “I SAID knock it off!”

“Nuh uh! I've had enough of your bullshit hotshot attitude, Asmo! Always thinkin' you're better than me, and-"

“That's because I AM better than you. You're nothing but a waste of perfectly good horns!”

“SCREW YOU!”

“GROW UP!”

Aaaaaand this is where the shoving match starts. This is the point it _always_ starts, seemingly every damn morning for the last three weeks. It’s become such a normal part of everyone's morning routine that the rest of the table is carrying on like nothing's wrong. Satan and Levi raise their voices a little so they can continue their conversation over the yelling, but that's it. Lucifer just sips his coffee and flips to the next page of his morning paper without so much as batting an eye.

Normally, I wouldn't give two shits about it either. Demons will be demons; brothers will be brothers; idiots will be idiots; pick whichever explanation you like, because they all apply.

This morning, however, I'm sitting in between them. (That was Satan's idea, and I'll be sure to send him a totally not-cursed thank you note tomorrow.) So they're leaning their chairs back so they can shove each other behind my back, or stretching across the table to throw bitch-slaps right overtop of my fucking breakfast plate, and now they're screaming at each other right over my head.

“YOU'RE SUCH A LOSER, MAMMON! NOBODY WANTS YOU HERE!”

“OH YEAH?! WELL NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOUR FACE ON A MAGAZINE COVER! THEY'RE TOO BUSY HIRIN' ME!”

“THEY HIRE YOU BECAUSE THEY CAN'T AFFORD ATTRACTIVE MODELS!”

Mammon gapes, then clears his throat, sits back down and calmly cuts a piece off his omelet. “You have bad hair.”

The whole room gasps, and stares. Satan’s fork hits the table, and clatters onto the floor. A piece of half-chewed sausage falls out of Beel's wide-open mouth. Lucifer chokes on his coffee.

Asmo clutches a hand to his heart. “How… how COULD you?!” He grabs his entire plate and hurls it; Mammon snaps one hand up without even looking to make the block, and…

…

…

Ok, breathe. Just… breathe. “Mammon?”

They've both sat back down now, and the room is uneasily quiet. Everyone’s staring.

Except for Asmo, who's hunched down in his chair, self-consciously sipping his orange juice and making no eye-contact whatsoever with anybody.

“EEP! Um… Yeah? I mean… yes, Mistress?”

He only calls me that when he's really, _really_ kissing my ass.

“Mammon… what am I wearing?”

“…Your uniform?”

“True, but I was thinking something else. On my head, for instance. What am I wearing on my head?”

It's dripping in front of my eyes.

“…Asmo's eggs?”

“Ah. Yup. That's what I thought. Lucifer, may I have your permission to-"

“Yes.”

He didn't even look up.

“Thank you, Sir.” I grab Mammon by the collar and Asmo by the hair and drag them both out of the room.

Behind me, I hear the idyllic rustle of newspaper, the resumption of a passionate conversation about why manga really should be considered more literature than comic, and all the pleasant ambiance of a lovely Wednesday breakfast.

Out in the hall, however, it's a different story.

“Ow ow ow! My hair!!! Stop pulling; you'll give me split ends!”

“It wasn't my eggs, why the hell do I gotta come along?!”

“Because you started it!”

“I did not! Ever since you stopped getting bookings, you've been takin' it out on me!”

Asmo leans behind me and shoves his brother into a wall. “Take that back! I get plenty, I just have standards! Something _you_ wouldn't understand!”

Mammon goes to return the favour, but too bad for him - all I can taste is peppery eggs and my hair is dripping cheese-slime and I am absolutely, positively, done with this shit.

“Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust! Mammon, Avatar of Greed!”

Mammon flinches. “Ah, shit.”

“Hands behind your backs. BOTH OF YOU!”

Mammon obeys without a fuss, but Asmo's new to this particular game, and scoffs at the command. “I absolutely will not! This is all Mammon's fault, and I, for one, have absolutely no intention of being- GYAH!”

Mammon snickers as my pact with Asmo wrenches his hands together behind his back. “Hehehehe. Welcome to my world, ya arrogant prick.”

“Mishka, please! I'm sorry about the omelet, ok? I meant to hit Mammon! If he hadn't blocked it-"

“Oh, shaddup already,” Mammon sighs. “You don't know Mishka nearly as good as I do, but trust me – at this point, it's in your best interest to just shut your face hole and try not to make it worse.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” I smirk, as I shoulder my way into my bedroom, plant my hands on my hips and point at the floor.

Mammon kneels down.

Asmo frowns and frets in place, testing his invisible bondage; he looks from me to the door to Mammon and back again, then swallows nervously and hesitantly kneels beside his brother.

“Good boy.”

“Hey!”

“And you too, Mammon. But you're _always_ my good boy. You don't need to hear it every time, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he snaps, managing to sound both indignant and shamelessly submissive at the same time. “So make with the compliments, girl!”

“Hehehe. I'll shower you with all the compliments you can handle once we're finished here,” I chuckle, as I lock a thick chain to the back of his collar.

Asmo's frowning, and sidling further and further away with every passing second. “Umm… Finished with what, exactly?”

“Asmo, stay. Now, I warned you once that if you two couldn't get along, I would chain your dumb asses together until you learned to play nice. Remember?” I dig around in the bottom of my dresser until I find an old steel collar I'd borrowed from Lucifer months ago. It's heavy and its ugly, and Asmo damn near has a panic attack when he sees me approaching him with it.

“No no no no no! You can't be serious! That’s the most garish thing I've ever seen!” He squirms and he writhes in a vain attempt to keep out of reach, but since he can’t actually fight back or get away, I get it locked around his neck without much trouble at all. “Mishka, please! I can't be caught dead wearing something so horrific!”

“Quit bein' such a whine-bag,” Mammon mutters. “It's about time someone knocked yer ass down a few pegs.”

I pull the slack out of Mammon’s chain, and measure out about… four feet? No. Too generous. Three feet’ll be more than enough. I slide the free end through Asmo's collar…

…and lock the quarrelling bastards together.

Mammon and Asmo gape at each other. For a second, you could hear a pin drop.

Then all hell breaks loose.

“Mistress, this ain't right! They were HIS eggs!”

“This is unconscionable! I… I can't be tied to _Mammon!_ I’d rather get hit in the dick with a bag of nails!”

“How am I supposed to do my gigs chained to this friggen douchenoodle? If I get fired one more time, I'm gonna get blacklisted!”

“Uuuugh!! Mammon you're supposed to dab cologne, not bathe in it!”

“Why the hell does your hair smell like flowers?! We're demons, dammit!”

“Stop breathing on me!”

“Stop lookin’ at me like that! This is all YOUR fault!”

“You're both released,” I smile. “Asmo, that means you can get up again. But you cannot remove your collar, or that chain,” I command, when the first thing he does is frantically try to pry a padlock loose wirh his fingernails. “You either, Mammon.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know how your dumb Rules work,” he grumbles. “Asmo, knock it off already,” he adds, with a solid elbow thrown in for good measure. “It ain't gonna come off. Trust me.”

“I'll set you both free when you've learned to play nice. Understand?”

Mammon’s answer is an exasperated, “Yeeees, Mistress.”

Asmo doesn't acknowledge me at all. He's just staring at himself in the mirror, running his fingertips over the hideous iron collar, and quietly sobbing. “It's… it's… it's SO tacky…”

“I'll see you both at class, then. Have fun, boys.”

If they even make it, that is.

I'm not even halfway down the hall, and already, all I can hear from my room is…

“Hey, quit pullin’!”

“YOU stop pulling!”

I can't stop smirking. This'll be fun.

When Mammon finally gets to class, twenty minutes late, his face looks like he lost a fight with a rabid alley cat. Without a word, he storms up to his desk and heaves Asmo, bound hand and foot and protesting vehemently through a thick ball gag, off his shoulder and onto the floor.

The whole class stops, stares… then goes right back to work. The teacher just rolls her eyes and carries on with the lecture.

“Mmmmmm! MMmmMMmMMMM!”

Mammon kicks his squirming brother in the throat. “Shut up! You’re gonna get us both in trouble!” He wipes his hair out of his eyes, glances at me, then leans across the aisle and whispers, “Problem solved! We ain't fightin'! Totally playin’ nice! He ain't half-bad company when he can't-"

“No, Mammon. This doesn't count.”

“…Dammit.”

“MMMmmmMMMMM!!”

“Yo! Thought I told you to shut up down there!”

I chuckle as I turn back to the lecture.

They'll figure it out.

…Probably.

By the time I get to second period alchemy, Asmo's already there. He isn't sitting at his usual desk (right-hand aisle, third from the front, where the lighting was just right), but rather at the very back of the room, cross-legged on one of the antique steamer trunks that usually houses all the class' reagents.

The narrow glass bottles that should be lined up inside the trunk are scattered all over the floor.

Asmo, sporting Satan's black-feathered boa, is humming to himself while he does his nails.

The steamer trunk is being awfully loud, for a steamer trunk.

“I'm bein' serious!” _(Thud thud thud)_ “You'd better let me out this instant, or I'm gonna bleach your damn hair while you're sleeping!” _(THUD THUD THUD)_ “Asmo come on!”

Asmo glances up and catches me watching. “Mishka! Your timing is perfect, as always. Could you gather a bit of-"

“Mishka? Mistress?! Is that you?” _(THUD THUD THUD)_ “Make Asmo let me out! It's dark in here!”

Asmo bangs on the trunk. “Hush, you. You're the one who climbed inside, idiot.”

“YOU TOLD ME THERE WAS TREASURE INSIDE MISHKA GET ME OUT PLEASE IT'S DARK AND I'M SCARED"

“Ugh.” Asmo rolls his eyes. “What a baby. Anyway, darling, those bottles on the floor? Could you find me the Datura and the Lavender, please?”

“Uhh… sure, Asmo.” I start flipping over bottles. Nope… nope… ‘Salamader Ejaculate’?!

…ew.

“Here ya go.” I toss him the pair so he doesn't have to get up, then watch curiously as he sprinkles a bit of each onto his fingertips, squeezes them together, then mumbles a quiet incantation under his breath as he sprinkles the powdery concoction over the trunk.

The desperate thumping gets weaker, then intermittent, then peeters to a stop.  


“H…hey,” Mammon mumbles, “w… what's the…” _(yaaaaaaawn)_ “…b… b… big idea… I don't… I… what's… hnnnnnn…” His groggy protests devolve into quiet, babbling moans. “Hnnn… I'dba… dunnonnhhh…”

Asmo frowns. “Huh. That should have put him to sleep.”

I shake my head and sigh. “Mammon's right. You really _don't_ ever listen to him.”

“Pardon? Listen about what?”

“About anything. Mammon’s collar won't let him fall asleep anywhere that isn't his bed,” I explain. “And a cantrip is no match for his pact,” I sigh, “so all you've done is… drug him, I guess.”

“Hnnnnnnnnn… wannannnahhhh… hnnn… hnnnnnn…”

“Oh. Now that you mention it, I might remember him saying _something_ about all that, but…” He mulls it over just long enough to look polite, then shrugs. “Oh well! He doesn't need to be all-the-way asleep to be tolerable company, after all. So long as he isn't talking, or moving, or making his presence known, we’ll get along like two peas in a pod! Now, if you'd be so-"

“No.”

He blinks. “No what?”

“I'm not taking your collar off,” I smirk. “Nice try, but no loopholes, darling. If you want me to let you go, you're going to have to figure out how to get along with Mammon without one of you being tied up or locked in a box or stoned out of his gourd.”

Asmo plants a hand on his hip and scoffs. “Well _now_ you’re just being difficult.”

“Yup. And give me that,” I chuckle, as I grab a handful of feathers and yank the boa off his neck.

Asmo shrieks like a five-year-old girl and tries to yank his uniform up into a turtleneck.

“No loopholes. If you want it off, get along with your brother. Maybe start by letting him out of that damn box. He's scared of the dark.”

“…Seriously? I always thought he was making all that stuff up.” He frowns, slides off the trunk and, after a final second of careful consideration, throws the lid open. “I'm…uh… ahemem… sorry about that, Mammon,” he mumbles. “I didn't know you were _really_ afraid of the dark. Come on. Can you stand up?”

“Hnnnnnn…”

“Ok. Here, just… put your arm around my neck…”

I smile as I take my seat and open my textbook, just in time for the lecture to begin.

The cafeteria is already bustling by the time Mammon and Asmo make it to lunch. Mammon’s leaning on his younger brother, and looks like he just came out of a forty-eight-hour NyQuil coma. He yawns, grabs a tray, and butts in front of three lesser demons to secure them both better place in line. Being collared and chained in public is just another day, for a demon too used to being the butt of everyone’s jokes.

Asmo, on the other hand, is furiously blushing. His eyes are flicking uncomfortably around the room, and he's doing all he can to hide behind his brother.

It’s no use, though. Table after table of rowdy little demons are whispering and pointing, nudging each other and snickering, doing impressions and erupting into choruses of cruel, mocking laughter.

Asmo, cursed by his namesake sin to be acutely aware of every last set of eyes on him, tugs at his brother's sleeve. “Mammon?” He's whispering, and I'm just close enough to make out what he's saying, “can we… can we go?”

“No way! I'm starving, and it's _your_ fault. Being magic-ed always makes me crazy hungry,” he yawns. “Besides, we're up next.”

“I…I'm not hungry anymore,” Asmo pleads. His bottom lip is quivering, and his eyes, still darting this way and that, start glistening with anxious tears. “I just want to go home. Please?”

“Sheesh! What's got you all bothered, huh? The food ain't _that_ bad.” Then he looks down, frowns… and stops kidding around. “Hey… Asmo, what's wrong?”

“They're… they're looking at us,” he whispers. “I can’t do this… They're all laughing at us…”

“So? Who cares what they…” Mammon's epiphany is so obvious, I’d almost swear I saw a cartoon lightbulb flash over his head. “Oh… OH! Aw, geez.” He surreptitiously pushes his sniffling brother behind him, where nobody can see. “You ain't never been bullied before, have you?”

Asmo shakes his head. “No… This is… Is this what we… what _I_ do to _you?_ ”

“Nah,” Mammon lies, without missing a beat. “These guys are just jerks. This whole punishment thing sucks,” he declares, loudly enough that the whole room can hear him. “Screw class. I'm takin' the rest of the day off.” He slams down his tray. “Come on, Asmo. Let's bail.”

Just as they reach the door, one black-eyed lesser demon elbows his tablemate, nods at the chained arch demons, and snickers.

In an explosion of white light that sends a thousand freshly minted pennies shooting across the cafeteria, Mammon, fully-transformed, whirls around, grabs the demon by the throat and slams him up against the wall.

“You must be new here,” he snarls, with his eyes blazing blue hellfire, “so lemme catch you up. This is Asmodeus, you dirt-sucking piece of shit; the Avatar of Lust, and my baby brother. He ain't the butt of nobody’s joke.” With one massive heave, he snaps the demon’s thin neck and sends the corpse crashing through three tables and the salad bar.

And just like that, nobody feels much like snickering anymore.

Asmo's staring, wide-eyed, like he’s seeing his big brother for the very first time.

“C'mon,” Mammon yawns. “Let's go home. I made myself dizzy,” he mutters, as he staggers into Asmo's arms, and leans on a supportive shoulder.

“…Thank you, Mammon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Little bastard had it coming. So, yeah, I mean… you're welcome, or whatever. And if Lucifer asks who just murdered that guy…”

“Satan did it.”

“Hehehe. Yeah, that's what I saw, too.”

True to Mammon's word, I don't see hide nor hair (nor wing nor horn) of either of them for the rest of the school day.

They're not in my room, either.

I'm on my way to check the kitchen when I finally hear a familiar voice drifting out of Asmo's private bathroom.

“…really can't fall asleep?”

I creep up to the porthole window, stand on my tip-toes and peek inside.

They're sitting on opposite ends of Asmo's bath, with the chain binding them together hidden somewhere beneath a mountain of luxurious, lavender bubbles. Mammon has his DDD in one hand, held up to his ear, and his other outstretched so Asmo can finish his flawless white manicure.

“For real,” Mammon answers (he must be on hold). “No matter how tired I am, I can't fall asleep nowhere else. I've tried magic, and potions, and getting totally shit-faced – that one's the worst, ‘cause then I just lay there with the room spinnin' in circles. Makes me puke,” he grumbles, “but not fall asleep. Oh – hang on a sec.” He shifts his phone around, and picks up a different conversation. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly. That fancy haute couture junk ain't my style, but he'd be perfect for it. …Trust me! Put him on the cover; you’ll sell out the first run overnight!” 

Asmo taps the back of his brother's hand, and Mammon obediently switches hands so his manicure can continue uninterrupted.

“Thursday? Six o'clock?” He glances at Asmo, who eagerly nods. “Yeah, sounds great. He'll be there. And you better pay him my rate, not any of that amateur baseline shit!”

Smiling to myself, I slip back to my room. In all fairness, I should have interrupted their bath to set them free, but…

Well, another few hours of getting along won't kill them, will it?


End file.
